


art to life's distractions

by richt80



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richt80/pseuds/richt80
Summary: Eddie is anxious. Richie takes Prozac.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 19





	art to life's distractions

Richie smelled the cinnamon-y hint of Eddie’s famous pancake recipe before he even opened his eyes. It was Sunday morning. The sunlight peeked through the slightly askew blackout curtains Eddie demanded, suggested, they put on the wedding registry. Something about setting the optimal circadian rhythm; Bev must have understood because she bought them a set for each bedroom window and wrapped them with the largest red bow Richie had ever seen. Just outside the curtains, he heard the familiar, fairytale-like chirp of robins. 

Richie stretched his arms above his head, feeling his forty-plus years of existing in his lower back. He really was turning into an old man. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand to jot down a bit for a new set he was working on-- along the lines of the perfect old man impression, the kind with a wellworn gravel to it-- when he heard a crash quickly followed by a hushed but frazzled “fuck” from the kitchen. 

“Eds, you ok?” Richie called out as he slipped on his plaid house slippers. Wow, he really was turning into an old man. 

When he reached the kitchen, Eddie was chewing on the skin of his right thumb. Right against the nail. His cuticle, as Richie’s makeup artist would point at his, unkempt with no plans to attend to them. As surprising as it was to Richie, Eddie calmed somewhat with age. He lost many of the nervous habits that had been egged on by his mother throughout childhood. He even went to therapy in his 30s. Richie took Prozac, keeping the terror of the world-- and of course seeing your friends almost die-- at bay. On the night they finally moved in together, a surprisingly warm April night even by LA standards, Eddie had pressed his forehead to Richie’s and let out a deep sigh. If Richie had to guess, Eddie had been holding that breath for many, many years. That was years ago now, but Eddie still let out contented little sighs as he snuggled into Richie’s side on the couch before a movie or when he wrapped his arms around Richie as soon as he got into bed. Eddie’s anxiety wasn’t gone, but he felt a lot safer. 

“Eddie?”

“Oh!” Eddie turned, embarrassed at the sight before Richie. Eddie was a bit messy, with flour speckling his cheeks and a clump or two in his hair. But the real mess was on the floor. Pancake batter in every nook and cranny of the newly installed tiles. Shards of the glass mixing bowl, another wedding registry pick of Eddie’s, scattered across the entire kitchen. 

Richie reached out to swipe flour from under Eddie’s left eye. He rested his other hand on Eddie’s jawl, hoping to get Eddie to unclench his teeth-- a lingering manifestation of his anxiety. If Richie was honest, he had grown to love all of the small things caused by Eddie's anxiety. The soft worry lies at the corners of his lips. The soft touch of Eddie grabbing onto Richie, to keep him steady. Richie liked being Eddie's steady. Liked the feeling of Eddie’s fingers circling his wrist or resting on his shoulder. One night, Eddie fell asleep with his fingers still gripping Richie’s. Not a handhold, but something deeper. 

Richie rubbed his thumb across Eddie's jawl. He still had morning stubble. Eddie always shaved in the morning before work, but let it grow on the weekend. Richie loved it. The soft prick against his thumb now. The tickle of Eddie kissing behind his ear just before they fall asleep, spooned together. The good burn of it on Richie’s thighs. He looked forward to it. Made weekends even more special. 

“Good morning,” Richie said, thumb moving towards Eddie’s bottom lip which had set into a pout. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Eddie began, “for killing the Tonight Show set and--” 

“Well, I’m certainly surprised,” Richie joked, thumb still rubbing just below Eddie’s even more pronounced pouting lip. “How about breakfast tacos, from the place you like instead?” 

Eddie sighed, turning back to the mess on the floor. “I have to clean this up.” 

“We can clean it up after.” 

***

After eating one too many breakfast tacos at their ornate, thrifted coffee table, Richie coaxed Eddie into laying on his lap. “I should probably go for a run,” Eddie had said, rubbing at this stomach. As much as Richie wanted to see him in his little running shorts, he wanted to waste the day way with him even more. “It’s Sunday!” Richie proclaimed before patting his lap for Eddie to rest his head. 

Stubbornly, but really a bit relieved, Eddie settled onto Richie. He could feel Richie’s breath against his hair. He couldn't smell his breath which no doubt was a mix of hot sauce and chorizo. No, all Eddie could smell was their laundry detergent on Richie’s sweatpants and hints of their shared body wash. The smell was distinctly Richie, but also distinctly Them. It made Eddie smile. 

Richie was scrolling aimlessly on Disney+ before settling on a show where adults performed their high school musicals again. Just as a group of adults were about to belt out It’s A Hard Knock Life, buckets of soapy water and all, Richie noticed Eddie had fallen asleep, his breath steady. Richie didn't want to wake him. Eddie rarely slept through the night. He grew accustomed to Eddie’s restlessness and breath on his neck. It was a miracle if they woke up still pressed together. Typically, Eddie rolled over onto the cool mattress, away from the heat of Richie's body. He used to be a bit sad about it until the night he woke up Eddie padding back from the bathroom.

The moonlight reflected off lingering water droplets in Eddie’s eyebrows. Richie was aware of anxiety dreams and the need to splash yourself with the coldest water the faucet could muster to prove they were just dreams. Sometimes, Eddie mentioned the nightmares. Richie listened, nodding at all the right times. He had been there when Eddie almost died. He understood him. Well, Richie understood the best he could. If some nights Eddie thought Richie was still asleep and only accidentally placed a hand on his skin, a little reminder he was there and they were alive and together, then Richie could live with that. 

Eddie awoke at lunch time thanks to the gurgle of Richie’s stomach. “Ugh, Rich, your stomach,” Eddie said, feigning anger and sitting up on the couch. 

“What can I say, I'm a growing boy?” 

“You aren't growing and I almost--” 

“But do you want me to?” Richie said, wangling his eyebrows. 

“That sucked, Richie. I was going to say we still need to clean the kitchen.” 

“Oh, you want me to suck--” 

“I can't believe you're an actual standup comedian when this is your best material,” Eddie scoffed, but smiled all the same. He always laughed at Richie's jokes. He always had. He was Richie's best audience member then and now. Didn't matter that each set was dedicated to him, though they were and he wouldn't let anyone forget that. 

After Richie’s first real show, with material he wrote and was proud of, Eddie had jumped into his arms. They were recently engaged, and every moment felt like life was finally clicking right into place. Richie kissed him so deeply it felt like the first time on that too quiet night at the hotel. Too quiet because they didn't speak as they walked up the flights of stairs to Eddie’s room. Too quiet because Richie didn't crack a single joke when he rested a large hand on Eddie’s thigh. Eddie could still remember the whiskey taste. The way Richie placed a firm hand on the small of Eddie’s back. At that moment, the first piece clicked into place. 

“I’ve wanted this for more years than I can remember,” Richie breathed against his lips. 

“Me too, Rich,” Eddie said, pulling off his own shirt then Richie’s. 

It gave Eddie a jolt of pleasure to think about how his younger self would have been horrified to have a first kiss and sex in the same night. But he wasn't a repressed kid in the 80s anymore. There was nowhere else in the world he was supposed to be but that hotel room, that bed, slicking himself up and sliding into Richie. 

It made Eddie hard just thinking about it. The way Richie had touched him, the way their bodies seemingly were made for eachother. He had never felt as alive as that night. 

He wanted Richie now. But he was cleaning up the mess in the kitchen like a good and dutiful husband. It didn't matter to Richie that Eddie messed up their breakfast. Nor did it matter that he broke their good mixing bowl that Richie’s aunt purchased for them from their wedding registry. 

Eddie joined Richie in picking up the shattered pieces. It didn't escape Eddie how metaphoric the whole situation was. Richie coming to pick up the pieces of him. No, they were doing it together. They were in this together. 

***

After they finished sweeping up the last bit of the mess, Richie insisted they go for a walk around the nearby park. They strolled around the well-maintained paths, stopping occasionally for a sip of water from the reusable bottle Eddie packed-- he was always prepared-- or for Richie to snap a half-candid photo of Eddie to post later. Richie loved posting Eddie on his Instagram. His soft smile in the morning, body tastefully hidden under the sheets. Or Eddie posing against a mural, the one with the angel wings was Richie's favorite despite it being so touristy. Richie felt comfortable doing things he would have found insufferable with previous boyfriends. Richie's camera roll was full of selfies with Eddie. Their tongues sticking out at Pride. Peace signs at the pier after Eddie failed to win Richie a huge stuffed banana. 

Phone camera already opened, Richie cooed, “Eds, pose with the flowers for me.” Beside the path was a bush of freshly bloomed gardenias. The small white flowers sweetened the summer air and left the occasional petal on the path. Eddie obliged Richie, snuggling up to the bush and sniffing a flower. Richie took a few posed, but loved the candid ones more. Eddie batting away a bumblebee. Eddie tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The flowers made his skin look even softer. Richie wanted to taste him, lick a strip up his neck. 

But he resisted. They kept on walking until the air carried a familiar twinkling song. “Oh, an ice cream truck!” Richie exclaimed. He had a sweet tooth that hung on from childhood. It was one of the few things that still concretely connected him to Derry. And Eddie of course, who was already approaching the window to order two cones. He knew Richie’s order. Not just for ice cream. But for Starbucks (a vanilla iced coffee with almond milk), pizza (half pepperoni, half mushroom), and, of course, from their favorite taqueria (three carne asada tacos and horchata). 

Eddie turned back to Richie holding a vanilla in one hand and a twist he was already licking in the other. Richie took his cone and the extra napkins Eddie had grabbed. He was always prepared. 

“Rich,” Eddie began, as he continued licking at his ice cream, “do you ever think about the ice cream shop back home? I remember they always had chocolate chip peppermint and I never knew anyone who liked it until I met Bev. And there was the corner booth--”

And who could fault Richie for being a bit distracted? He watched Eddie’s precise tongue swipe up a drop of ice cream before it dripped onto his shirt. He kept nodding and mhmm-ing along because Richie was a good listener, but he wanted Eddie still. Couldn’t help to think that if they were about 15 years younger, he would have asked Eddie to take him right there, even though there were only a few trees to hide them. Richie wasn’t as adventurous these days-- fighting a clown demon was enough adventure for a lifetime. 

Later, as Eddie slid inside him, Richie kissed the corner of his mouth. He was laying on his back, legs around Eddie’s waist. Click, click, into place just like they were meant to be. Eddie’s skin tasted just like chocolate ice cream.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe this is actually just a character study. kudos & comments always appreciated <3 [title from Hozier's Someone New]


End file.
